Carte Blanche
by BeskHolbien
Summary: "You think you have it bad, Monica? I only exist as a Voice in your head now!" The Knight of Twelve is many things: Quiet. Loyal. Ruthless. Armed with knowledge not her own, she will see her sovereign's plan to completion, or die trying. A Pseudo SI.
1. Prologue: One Year After Rebellion

_**One Year after the Black Knight Insurgency: **_

_**Geass Directorate Base, Somewhere in the Gobi Desert, 2018 a.t.b**_

* * *

_It was never supposed to be like this. _The immortal thought as he ran through the winding corridors of what _should _be a completely secure base. Someone...no, that was incorrect. Some_thing _had managed to get inside. Ordinarily, this would be a minor security concern. The guardsmen would be more than enough to deal with any unwanted guests, and if necessary, they had the children to deploy.

But then, as if God were laughing at him, his damn nephew had shown up with his 'Black Knights', as if calling such filth would make them so. He had made to pilot the Siegfried, his masterpiece, but the Hunter had found him first. The first bullet went straight through his left knee, and the second had lodged itself into his spine. Needless to say, he found himself in immense..._discomfort. _It was not the first time he had been shot, far from it in fact. But that did little to change the fact that a small chunk of metal travelling at an average speed of two and a half thousand feet every second still caused a great deal of pain to him.

So now here he was, physically dragging himself towards the Thought Elevator. It was ever so tedious, he would have to 'die' again to fix this nonsense.

"The old and oft repeated warning that 'Absolute power corrupts absolutely' has a single, yet vital flaw." A voice declared, though the being that was once Victor zi Britannia could not see its owner. "Said flaw being, of course, that when given to a certain type of person, absolute power feels _absolutely __**fucking **__glorious._"

"When one has such power." The voice continued. "The idea of limitation, whether by morals or laws or decency, becomes anathema. And even the bonds of blood and kin become little more than unimportant words in documentation." He heard footsteps approaching him from behind, and rolled himself onto his back. Hissing in pain, his gaze narrowed on the one walking towards him as recognition set in. _One of the children from half a decade ago. _"Is that not correct?"

"_You...dare?_" V.V. hissed. "After I extended greatness to you!"

"You were foolish to share that power with me, traitor." The cool gaze of the Knight of Twelve, Monica Krushevsky filled his view, and the one that was once called Victor zi Britannia scowled. The blonde woman tossed aside her rifle, likely pilfered from the Directorate's own stores, and rested a hand on the hilt of her blade.

The diminutive elder man sneered. "How did you get passed The Orphans?"

"Do you not recall?" Monica gestured to her left eye. "**Absolute Immunity.** A very useful gift against your little pets. As were bullets. I gave them the gift of mercy, had I let them live they would have become monsters, _just like me_."

V.V. let out a mad cackle. "You justify the murder of children without a shred of regret. You are entirely deserving of that moniker of yours_._"

The Knight of Twelve narrowed her gaze, and slowly drew her blade free from its sheath. She stepped closer towards the man, her face betraying little emotion.

"Victor zi Britannia, for your crimes of High Treason, the murder of her Majesty Empress Marianne vi Britannia and your _repugnant and extensive _Human Experimentation..I, Monica Krushevsky, Knight of Twelve, do here by sentence you to death." Monica pressed her blade to V.V's neck. "I'd offer you the chance for last words, but quite frankly, I do not care to hear them."

"STAND DOWN, KNIGHT OF TWELVE!" A thunderous voice filled the chamber. V.V's lips curled into a smirk. His little brother was always so reliable.

Without a moment's hesitation and lowering her sword, the Knight of Twelve knelt at her sovereign's approach. She kept her gaze on the ground, and voice even. "Majesty."

Charles zi Britannia, Emperor of the Holy Britannian Empire, Supreme Head of the New Anglican Church, _Primus inter pares _of the Round Table and a whole host of other titles he had a secretary to keep track of, strode into view. His eyes were not on his brother, but on the youthful woman obediently knelt before him.

"..Dame Krushevsky." He began, his gaze hard and unyielding. "It appears you have at last returned to where your journey began. I would know how….and _why._"

"...Your son kindly led me to this location." Monica explained plainly. "I took the opportunity he provided to...settle certain scores. The fact I could legitimately claim to be delivering justice for Empress Marianne was..._convenient._"

"Was it now?" The Emperor raised an eyebrow, and Monica was not sure whether it was curiosity, amusement, or something else entirely.

"..You know what _that thing _did to me, Your Majesty." She spoke quietly. "So you know why I have done this. I offer no apologies."

"Indeed?...Very well then. Dismissed, Knight of Twelve. I shall deal with my brother _personally._"

"Of course, Your Imperial Majesty." She rose to her feet, resisting the urge to shoot a glare...or another bullet, at V.V. "Do you wish for me to render Princess Cornelia aid?"

"...I do not." The Emperor dismissed her with a vague wave of his hand. "Now, go. Have the Flagship be prepared should I require it."

"By your will, My Emperor." Monica saluted, made her departure. "All hail Britannia."

"...Charles." V.V. scowled. "Are you honestly going to let her go? She must be dealt with! She knows too much!"

The Emperor sighed, and strode towards his brother, a hand outstretched. "..Rulers that kill those that are loyal to them do not remain Rulers for long, _Victor. _You were the one that kept reminding me of that."

V.V's eyes widened as realisation as to what his brother intended to do set in.

…_.Why? _He thought. _Why betray me like this, Little Brother?_

* * *

Monica Krushevsky smiled to herself as she departed the Geass Order's main base. Whilst the Black Knight's had come here ostensibly to kill the bastard that ran the Directorate, wiping out the other Geass users was almost certainly a major secondary objective.

It was immaterial, of course. Her Emperor had a mission of his own. One important enough to come in person. One that it was so paramount that it remained secret, a Knight of the Round was to make no effort to assist one of the few children that her Emperor actually gave a damn about in order to ensure its secrecy. _Ragnarök. _An unusual name for a project, but as the Emperor's Hand, it was not her duty to question, only to see it to completion.

_Well, That was certainly something. _The Voice commented idly. Her constant companion for nearly a decade had at first terrified her almost as much as the demented dwarf that had _detained _her had. But after the hell she had had to endure, the missions, the tortures, the experiments...The Voice and she had come to an understanding. He, and The Voice was most definitely male, would advise her and supply her with knowledge. In return, she would not reveal His existence. It was a fair enough deal, in her opinion. _So then, Monica. What're you going to do now that that reject troll doll is dealt with? Charlie boy has given his marching orders._

"If what you have said will happen does..._we _are going to put down a rebellion." Monica smirked. "The Empire's Hand will choke the life from that arrogant little shit. If not, I shall enjoy a glass of fine wine as I toast in the End of the World."

_Works for me!_

* * *

**I must admit, this story is the product of both wanting to do a Code Geass SI, and to expand on the role of a minor character.**

**It always struck me as a little odd that Monica Krushevsky, who canonically was Head of the Imperial Guard/The Emperor's personal security wasn't part of the Geass Directorate or affiliated with them in any way. So here we are. A Pseudo Self Insert where the SI only exists as a voice in Monica's head.**

**Let's see how this goes, hm?**


	2. Chapter 1: Eight Years Before Rebellion

_**Eight Years prior to the Black Rebellion:**_

_**Auckland **__**Military Parade Grounds, Area 9,(Formerly New Zealand), 2009 a.t.b**_

* * *

Alexander Krushevsky let out a yawn as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his overcoat, in a bid to fight off both the cool autumn air and the jetlag that came from travelling straight from St. Petersburg to Auckland. His body was telling him it was about one in the morning, not the eleven in the morning it actually was. But it would be worth it if this deal went through.

The _RPI-11 Glasgow_ was the newest Knightmare frame, developed by both the Ashford Foundation and the Imperial Military Armoury. Said groups had styled it the first 'Fourth-Gen' machine, and the promise it showed..well, the amount of money mass-producing them would net him could finally mean he could buy his and his family's way into the nobility of the Homeland. A distasteful way to enter the highest echelons, perhaps, but it wouldn't matter. Having a barony or county would allow his daughter to get the finest education money could buy, aside from that of the Royal family, of course.

_Moncia. _He smiled at the thought. His sweet child, the brightest and youngest of his children and the light of his life since the death of his wife, certainly had a good future ahead of her. She wasn't a useless layabout like her eldest brother Pavel nor content with mediocrity like middle child Charles. Monica was different, the child who even at twelve already had a keen interest in all things military. It wasn't dolls she played with, but her Pavel's old toy _London'_s, the second generation (and first so-named) 'Knightmare Frame', along with their toy soldiers. Even now, he suspected the only reason she had demanded to come with him to Area 9 was to see the first demonstration of a new generation of the great machines.

_Not that I blame her. _He thought. _They are magnificent._

Whilst not as pretty or grand looking as the _YF6-X7K/E Ganymede, _it was nonetheless obvious that the _Glasgow _was technologically superior. The protected cockpit, the slash harkens...the delightfully big guns…

_The colour left a little to be desired though. _Alexander thought with a grin. _Grey-Brown? Pssh._

"Alexander!" A cheery voice called out. Alexander glanced around for the owner. He soon found him, emerging from the crowd. Broad shouldered and well dressed, bald but with a well maintained moustache. It took the Euro-Britannian a few moments to place his face..

".. Michael? Michael Hornsmith, is that you?" Alexander exclaimed and extended a hand. "By God man, it's been years! I haven't seen you since Montreal! How are you? What are you up to these days?"

"I am very well, my friend!" Hornsmith replied before offering an apologetic smile. "...But alas, I cannot tell you what it is I'm doing, very hush hush, you understand."

"Don't worry, I completely understand." Alexander nodded. "I've worked on a few of _those _types of projects myself in the past."

"Nothing like _this, _my friend." Hornsmith mumbled, and before Alexander could respond, the pair found themselves joined by a third..

"Father? Is something wrong?" A voice addressed the men. It's owner was young, with blonde hair that she shared with her father. Her blue eyes, like her mother's, were wide and curious.

"There you are!" Alexander exclaimed, and moved to embrace his daughter. The young girl frowned ever so slightly as her father took her by the hand and led her over to his friend. "Michael, may I introduce my daughter, Monica Alexandrovna Krushevskaya."

"Why does sh-, ah! That name thing you Euro-Brits do. Almost confused me there, Alexander." Michael grinned, before turning his attention to Monica. He looked her up and down, and nodded once. "A fine daughter you have here, My Friend. She'll do you proud, I have no doubt."

"Thank you, Michael." Alexander replied. "Well, we ought to get ready. The display should begin at any moment.

"Is it that time already?" Hornsmith gasped. "Oh my! I must be off! Wonderful to see you again, My Friend. We should catch up sometime."

"Indeed! I should like that immensely." The men shook hands, and Hornsmith made his departure. The Krushevsky's watched him striding purposefully towards the hangar, and out of sight.

"..Father? Who was that?" Monica asked with obvious hesitation. "He seemed..off."

"An old friend, Monica. No one to be worried about." Alexander smiled. "It's just how people like that have to be. Secrets weigh on you, Monica. Let that be today's serious lesson."

Monica nodded. "I understand father."

"Moncia" He began. "I have to go and start this off, so you just stay here, alright?"

"...But I-"

"Don't worry!" He smiled, and gently tousled her hair. "I shall be back before you know it."

Monica let out a giggle, and seeing that his daughter was smiling again, Alexander moved to ascend the podium. The crowd hushed, the chatter coming to a halt. Camera flashes filled his sight, and soon each and every eye was on him.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Alexander's voice boomed across the grounds. "I thank you all for your patience this morning. It is with the utmost pleasure that I can introduce you all to the newest Knightmare Frame. With any luck, they will soon be aiding our troops the world over..so please, put your hands together...for the _RPI-11 Glasgow_!"

There were five of the machines that left the hangar one after the another, and soon formed themselves up into two ranks, three at the back, and two at the front. The crowd politely offered applause as Alexander continued.

"Building on their success with the Ganymede, our bold Britannian scientists have once more pushed the boundaries of what is and is not possible! The Glasgow's rely on lightweight but defensive body armour, and the Landspinner Propulsion System made standard by the _NSF-47 London_s allowing these mighty machines to continue to run rings around the outdated weapons and vehicles of the Chinese and EU!" Alexander declared. "The Glasgow also introduces something that has been dubbed 'The Slash Harken'. In essence, it's a wired projectile weapon that can double as a grappling hook, or be used to help the Knightmare descend from aerial transports with the utmost safety, and it is our hope that they shall become standard equipment in all future Frames."

There was a round of hushed murmurings, and some of the observers took photos and notes. Alexander took a calming breath, and looked over the crowd. There is interest plain to see on many faces, including, not surprisingly, that of his daughter.

"But you did not come all this way simply to hear me speak!" Alexander grinned. "So then pilots! If you would be so kind...give our friends a demonstration!"

The Knightmare's lurched forward, and divided. Faster and faster they all but raced around the grounds. A great gout of dust went up, as did gasps, cheers and applause from the crowd. The machines came to a halt in a line behind Alexander. "This is the future, my friends! This is the way forward! Evolution is continuous! Progress is unhalting! The Empire is Eternal! All hail Britannia!"

"_**ALL HAIL BRITANNIA!**_"

And then, without warning, the Glasgow's began firing into the crowd.


	3. Chapter 2: Eight Years Before Rebellion

_**Eight Years prior to the Black Rebellion:**_

_**Somewhere over Area 9,(Formerly New Zealand), 2009 a.t.b**_

* * *

Officially, the Office of Secret Intelligence's Woodstock Division did not exist. Equally officially, it had absolutely no ties whatsoever to the Geass Directorate (given that the latter also did not officially exist). After all, if the existence of the Division that handled all 'off the books' operations and 'black projects' under the personal purview of the Director and the Director alone were to become public, there would be questions. And not welcome ones.

And then there would be the matter of how the _Emperor _would react..

Agent Monday shivered despite himself. Even what the Director was prone to do to those that failed him would pale in comparison to how Charles zi Britannia would deal with them once he discovered the truth. The Emperor had few friends, _real _friends, and the last time one of those friends had been murdered, the murderer had been boiled alive in oil. Despite the connection between His Majesty and the Director, there would be recompense for the death of Alexander Krushevsky, and no doubt The Director would throw him under the bus, or whatever vehicle the Emperor felt like crushing him with if only to make amends.

He admittedly had decidedly mixed opinions on the operation that they had just completed. Hijacking the demonstration of Knightmare Frames to kill the crowd _and _to ensure the death of one Alexander Nikolayevich Krushevsky was not exactly what he had expected to spend his morning doing, nor was what he was going to be spending his afternoon doing (the falsification of evidence that would implicate some known enemy of Britannia or other). Killing enemies of the state was one thing. He could _enjoy _doing that. But killing actual citizens of the Empire, even _Euro-_Britannians..was another matter. But at the end of the day, orders were orders, and he was just a field operative. He'd do the job, and raise a toast to the dead in the evening. He owed them that much, at least.

These thoughts were at the forefront of his mind as he looked at the girl floating in the tank. It was a simpler version of the tanks used by the Division for test subjects of certain..._entirely illegal _experiments. He wasn't entirely certain what it was she was floating in, nor why it was an unnaturally bright orange, but it didn't matter. It was protocol when it came to survivors under a certain age, and protocol was never questioned. His assistant was at his side, tapping away at a tablet, shooting a look at the girl every so often. Currently, they were in one of the Division's large aircraft, outfitted as was needed. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but comfort was a luxury they rarely enjoyed whilst out in the field.

"Do we have an identity for the girl?" Monday asked. "Do we know how she survived?"

"We do sir." The man at his side confirmed, handing his superior his tablet. "She is the daughter of a Euro-Britannian businessman in the arms trade. I recall him talking about her to one of our associates. As for how she lived, it seems she hid underneath the bodies of the dead. Or was pushed beneath them, we're not yet clear about that."

"Wait a moment." Monday paused, and turned to stare at his assistant. "..Are you telling me that this is _Krushevsky's _daughter?"

"Yessir."

"I see." This was bad. This was _very _bad. And Monday knew it. Hell, his damn assistant probably knew it too."Give me a moment to consider our options."

Not that they had a lot of those. If he was being honest, there were really only two that they could go with. Kill her, and hope that another branch of the OSI didn't do an autopsy on her, or-..

"She's...a _Euro-_Britannian.." He smiled faintly, returning his gaze to the girl. "...Then we have our path forward. We've a need for test subjects. The Emperor refuses to let us use anyone from the Homeland for them."

"...Krushevsky was a close associate of his Imperial Majesty." The younger man pointed out, the concern in his voice was evident. "There will be an investigation. Into both Alexander's death and his daughters..._disappearance._"

"..Then we will ensure that blame for it falls on Japanese agents. Even before the _tragic _death of Empress Marianne, the Emperor has been looking for an excuse to invade their nation. The equally _tragic _death of his friend Alexander and the kidnapping of his _young _daughter will surely be exactly what he's waited for." Monday's smile widened. "And besides should she _fail _to survive..well, we can dump her remains in Japan too. All it will have cost us is time. I must consult the Director, for confirmation."

"Of course sir."

Monday turned away and began to walk away. "Ensure no one else comes in here until I return."

"Understood sir." His assistant replied, offering a polite bow as he departed.

* * *

Monday let out a sigh as he stepped into his onboard office. It was plain, little more than a desk with a computer, a chair, a bookcase and large screen. He had a larger one at Headquarters, but it was a rare enough thing that he was ever there anymore to enjoy it. He strode over to close the window blinds to make the room as dark as possible, before activating the secure connection to Headquarters via his..or rather, his assistant's, tablet.

"Director V.V." Monday knelt before the screen as the face of his superior appeared.. "The mission was accomplished as expected. There was a survivor, but we are bringing her with us. I believe she could be used in Project Cúchulainn, Sir."

"_I do not care for your beliefs. Dispose of her immediately."_

"She is the daughter of the target, sir."

Monday found himself disturbed by the broad, gleeful sneer that the Director now wore upon his face, and how rapidly his previous expression had vanished to give way to it.

"_Bring her to our facility in Vladivostok, __**not **__Headquarters." _The Director ordered. "_I do not want my Brother's agents sniffing around. He is still in a foul mood over the death of that French whore and we are still in the process of cleaning up that mess on our end. Under no circumstances are we to be linked to the...unfortunate death of the Euro-Britannian."_

"Of course, Sir. I shall make sure of it personally."

Even before the Director's visage had faded from the screen, Monday found himself wondering what it was he had just agreed to put the girl through. He sighed, shook his head, and stood up. After straightening out his jacket, he marched out of the room. It was time to get the hell out of here.


End file.
